Look After You
by greymantledlady
Summary: Merlin sits on the side of the bed. 'Arthur,' he says. 'Are you sick? ' Arthur huddles in the bedclothes. 'Throat hurts,' he croaks, and swallows painfully. (Arthur is sick, and Merlin takes care of him. But Arthur wants something more, and he won't say what it is.) Arthur/Merlin, canon era, sickfic.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin._

 _Have some sick Arthur and caring Merlin on me, everyone. :)_

 _Update: Now with amazing cover art - 'Sleeping' used with permission by Nicci on AO3 - go and have a look at her work, you will be blown away and thrilled by the beautiful Merlin/Arthur photomanips!_

* * *

Arthur groans, and buries his face in his pillows.

'Come on,' Merlin says, 'up.' He shakes Arthur's shoulder.

'M'so _tired_ , Merlin,' Arthur mumbles; and he shivers and pulls his covers more snugly around him. Merlin's about to grab them and wrestle them off him, but then Arthur coughs throatily, and Merlin notices that Arthur's looking – sick. Pale. Not as bright golden as he usually looks when he wakes from a night's rest.

Merlin sits on the side of the bed. 'Arthur,' he says. 'Are you sick?'

Arthur huddles in the bedclothes. 'Throat hurts,' he croaks, and swallows painfully. He looks pallid and pitiful and unwell, and a surge of love and protectiveness rises up in Merlin's chest, unbidden.

'Arthur,' he says softly. 'Arthur, you know that you have that meeting today, with the Mercian ambassador. I don't think you can miss it.'

Arthur grunts and rubs his cheek pathetically against the pillow, closing his eyes. And because Arthur's different like this, softer and less fierce, Merlin slips his arms quickly around him and pulls him up into a bit of a hug, against his chest. Arthur lets him, warm and droopy and heavy, and Merlin dares to cuddle him a little. 'I know it's difficult,' he murmurs. 'Look, Arthur, just stay here for now. The meeting's not till later. I'll bring you something that'll help, all right?'

Arthur makes a grateful sort of mumble into Merlin's shoulder, and Merlin gives him another squeeze, enjoying the feel of him in his arms. 'Stay here,' he says again. 'I'll be right back.'

* * *

Merlin makes the best sore throat draught he knows how to, with warm honey and lemon and spices and a generous trickle of mead, and takes a big gobletful up to Arthur.

'You'll like this,' he says as he swings the door shut. 'Just wait.'

Arthur's got the covers all curled up tight around his neck, but he opens his eyes droopily to watch Merlin come round and sit back down on the bed. (He looks like a sad puppy in a red blanket, but Merlin isn't going to tell him that just at the moment.)

Merlin holds up the goblet invitingly. 'It's a toddy. It has mead, and honey, and lemon, and it's nice and warm.'

Arthur looks mildly interested, but also as though he's too snug and comfortable to sit up. He just looks at Merlin with those big puppy eyes, and Merlin has to laugh a little bit because it's so odd for Arthur to be this passive.

'You really aren't feeling good, are you?' he says, and sets the goblet down carefully on the cabinet beside Arthur's bed. 'Come on. It will help, I promise.' And he shifts across and wriggles his arm under the bedclothes and around Arthur's shoulders, tugging gently on Arthur's weight until he has him more or less upright.

Arthur says hoarsely, 'Hurts.'

'Come on then, this will do it good,' Merlin encourages, reaching for the toddy. 'Are you going to hold it, or do you need me to feed it to you?'

He means it as a joke, of course, but then Arthur turns his face away to cough raspingly into his arm. And he looks back at Merlin with a pitiful face that looks more like a puppy than ever, and there's no way Merlin can resist that face.

'Oh, all right, then, you big baby,' he murmurs, feeling his cheeks heat a little. 'Open up.'

Arthur opens obediently, and Merlin lifts the goblet to his lips, and lets him drink from his hand. Something about it – about feeding Arthur like this – makes a soft warmth blossom in Merlin's chest. He wants to hold Arthur and care for him and look after him, and nurse him from his sore throat, and make sure he never gets sick again.

Obviously he can't tell Arthur that, so he just rubs Arthur's shoulder gently as he drinks, and when he's had enough Merlin lets him lie down again and tucks the covers around him.

'Just go back to sleep now,' he says quietly. 'I'll wake you up in time for that meeting this afternoon. Your armour needs polishing, but I'll go and do that somewhere else so you can rest.'

'No,' Arthur croaks suddenly, and Merlin looks at him, surprised.

'No?'

Arthur tosses his head restlessly on the pillow. 'Stay,' he demands huskily.

'You – you want me to stay here?'

'Mm.'

'And do what?' Merlin asks. 'All my jobs are _noisy_.'

Arthur hunches his shoulders under the bedclothes, looking small and cross and petulant, and oddly, for a second, close to tears. He makes a sore-sounding mumble that might be meant to mean 'Don't care,' and Merlin melts, and pats Arthur's shoulder.

'If you really want me to, I'll stay,' he says in a soft voice. 'I'll try and keep it quiet.'

Arthur nods firmly, and so Merlin gives his shoulder a last reassuring pat, and goes to fetch the armour. He sits at the table, because that's much the easiest place to do it. Arthur's eyes follow him across the room.

Merlin polishes for a while, keeping it as quiet as he can, glancing up every so often to check on Arthur. At first, it seems as though Arthur's drifting back to sleep, his eyes closed and his cheek pillowed in his hand.

But then Merlin hears him thrashing and shifting around, and when he looks up, Arthur's watching him again, and his big sad eyes are impossible to ignore. Merlin puts the armour down, and the cloth.

'What is it?' he says, resigned.

Arthur looks at him mournfully. 'M'cold,' he says in a croaky voice, and then watches Merlin limply as though waiting for him to do something about it.

'You've got several blankets on your bed already,' Merlin says, coming over to the bedside again and straightening the covers. 'You're not running a fever, are you?'

He touches the back of his hand to Arthur's forehead, softly brushing away the golden hair from his face. And then Arthur reaches up and puts his own hand over Merlin's, keeping it there. He doesn't speak, just watches wistfully; and Merlin suddenly _knows_ what it is that Arthur wants, but won't say.

He takes a deep breath, because it would be awfully humiliating if he was wrong. But he doesn't think he's wrong.

'All right, then,' he says, and sits on the side of the bed and starts pulling off his boots. And Arthur just watches him, and looks a very slight bit happier; and Merlin knows he wasn't wrong at all.

He leaves his boots on the floor, and swings his legs up, wriggling past Arthur to the other side, and crawling under the covers. Arthur waits, looking hopeful, and Merlin curls up against him. Arthur is big and soft and warm, and Merlin slips his arms around him and holds him close.

'If I catch your sore throat, I'm taking a whole week off,' Merlin threatens gently. But Arthur just closes his eyes and gives a sleepy little smile; and his body relaxes against Merlin as he starts drifting off into sleep.

'Sleep well,' Merlin murmurs; and his heart is warm and full, and he can't help brushing a light kiss onto Arthur's soft golden hair.

* * *

 _Arthur just wants to be babied by Merlin, I think. ;)_

 _I hope you liked this one! I know I've marked it as complete for now, but I really enjoyed writing this sickfic - so I might write another chapter sometime. Maybe one where it's Merlin who's sick, set in the present day with a reincarnated Arthur?_

 _Please leave a review - I'd love to know what you thought. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin._

* * *

It feels… nice, holding Arthur as he sleeps. Nice. _Right_ , as though Merlin's arms were made to curl around Arthur's broad chest, as though their bodies were designed to fit against one another comfortably.

Merlin's chest is against Arthur's back, his cheek against Arthur's hair. He rubs his nose in it, gently, listening to Arthur's slow congested breathing. Then he dips his head and noses daringly at Arthur's neck, nudging through strands of silky gold to reach Arthur's skin.

Arthur smells good, in an earthy, safe sort of way. Merlin breathes in that warm Arthur-smell, falling into a light dozing sleep.

At some stage he's aware of Arthur shifting, rolling over in the circle of Merlin's arms. Merlin curls too, so that now his cheek is resting on Arthur's chest. Arthur's arm circles over him, naturally and easily, pulling him closer, and Merlin snuggles against him, half-asleep.

He dreams, the sort of comfortable dozy half-sentient dreams one has when utterly relaxed. He and Arthur are curled up in the woods, late summer sunlight drifting through leaves in dappled shades of green and gold. The bright clear sound of a wren comes from the trees above, and then there's a unicorn smiling fondly at them. A little logical part of Merlin's mind quibbles that unicorns don't smile, and certainly not _fondly,_ but it's a dream, after all; anything's allowed.

'H'lo unicorn,' Merlin mumbles, smiling happily at it with his head still nestled against Arthur. The unicorn dips its graceful head in acknowledgement. But then it seems to hear something, and looks up and around. It's tapping one grey hoof – tap-tap – tap-tap – tap-tap.

Merlin frowns and groans. The tapping is awfully loud.

Tap-TAP!

He jolts awake. Warm – bed – Arthur! What –? Oh – _Arthur_. Arthur was sick. Arthur had wanted to be held. And someone was tapping at the door – neat, tidy taps, but definitely growing politely impatient.

Merlin flails about in under Arthur's covers, trying to extract himself from Arthur's sheets and Arthur's firm grip about his waist, and Arthur's legs all tangled up with his own. His face is warm, from sleep and something more, and his shirt and scarf are askew.

Arthur makes a grumbling sound and holds tighter, one of Merlin's knees trapped warmly between his legs, his hand fisted in Merlin's shirt. Merlin blushes even more hotly as the shirt slips off his shoulder, grabbing at it to pull it back. ' _Arthur!_ ' he hisses. 'Arthur, let go of me, _please!_ There's someone at the door!'

Arthur grunts and coughs and opens bleary eyes, looking utterly disoriented. Even in his fluster, Merlin can't help the little warm curl around his heart, and he moves Arthur's arms gently down as his grip reluctantly slackens.

He tries to straighten his clothing up before he opens the door, but his hair is impossibly rumpled and his eyes are bleary from sleep. And of course it's George at the door, stupid boring perfect George, and though he's far too well trained to comment, Merlin can see his eyes running over Merlin's dishevelment and _thinking_ things.

'What is it?' Merlin asks, trying to sound calm and polite. It comes out as rather awkward and nervous, though, _shifty_ , and George's neat eyebrows raise by a tiny fraction.

'His Majesty required myself to check on the Prince. His Majesty had not seen him today and wished to ensure that the Prince would be present at the ambassador's meeting.'

Merlin stares at him blankly for a moment. He reels it off like a book. _How_ does he talk like that all the time?

'Ah – yes, yes, of course,' he stumbles, and then pulls himself together. 'I mean, yes. Prince Arthur has been unwell this morning, but he will be there. Unless – ' He looks hopefully at George again. 'You don't think it'd be all right for him to miss it? He's really sick, sore throat and everything.'

George looks prim and disapproving. 'It wouldn't be for me to say,' he sniffs.

Merlin sighs. 'Thanks then, I suppose. I'll get him there.'

He closes the door with a sigh of relief – George flusters him out of his wits sometimes. It's a good thing George _had_ come, though, or Merlin might have slept right through and forgotten to wake Arthur, and although he really, _really_ wishes that he could let Arthur go on sleeping like that, peaceful and warm – he can't. Arthur would get into trouble, and his father would go and make him feel like a big disappointment again, and Arthur's face would make Merlin's heart hurt.

He goes back over to Arthur's bed and perches on it. Arthur's eyes open as Merlin softly touches his shoulder; they're heavy-lidded, but more lucid, and Merlin smiles encouragingly, patting him a little bit.

'Just George,' he says quietly, 'reminding us about that meeting.'

'Remind'ng us,' Arthur croaks, and his eyes focus on Merlin's face. 'S'nice.'

'Nice?'

'Smiling.' And Arthur reaches up slowly and brushes Merlin's face with gentle sleep-clumsy fingers.

Merlin jumps. _Oh._ Maybe not so lucid, then. But he can't help reaching up and closing his hand around Arthur's, and he can't help grinning stupidly down at Arthur, because Arthur thinks his smile is nice! Even if it's only when he's sick and confused.

And Arthur smiles sleepily back up at him, and maybe he doesn't realise it, but his fingers clutch at Merlin's and squeeze.

Merlin squeezes back and clears his throat, his heart singing. 'Come on,' he says. 'Let's get you to this meeting. Then afterwards you can come back here and go back to bed, and I'll make you some more of the warm honey drink, all right? Actually, I'll make you some now as well, it'll help you if you need to talk in the meeting.'

'Mm,' Arthur mumbles.

Merlin gets Arthur up, and dressed, somehow, with little coaxing touches and his hand on Arthur's shoulder to steady him. Arthur looks rather awful, his face pasty, holding his mouth and neck stiff because it hurts to swallow. His nose is pink, which Merlin finds oddly endearing.

Arthur sways, a bit, and Merlin quickly catches his arm around himself in a half-hug, and steers Arthur so he's sitting down on the bed. 'Oh, Arthur,' he says remorsefully. 'I'm sorry. You _really_ shouldn't be out of bed; any physician would say so.'

Arthur clears his throat raspingly, with painful slowness, and croaks, 'C'n't let father down. Have to,' and Merlin nods ruefully.

He brings Arthur a new draught of the honey drink; and if he leaves his hand resting on Arthur's back while he sips – and even maybe rubs a little – Arthur still doesn't seem to mind.

When it's time, they make their way down to the chamber where Uther and the ambassadorial delegation are waiting. Arthur's actually staggering as he walks; and the hallways are deserted, so Merlin slips under his arm again.

'C'mon, just lean on me again,' he coaxes. 'Then you can walk in there on your own.'

Arthur does as he says, leaning on him heavily. 'Don't kn'w – why – like this,' he says huskily, sparing his words. 'Stup'd.'

Just before they go in, when Merlin lets go and steadies Arthur on his feet, Arthur rasps, 'M'rlin – stay – pl'se? B'hind me?'

'All right,' Merlin agrees softly. 'I'll be right behind your chair the whole time. You're doing very well. Just a bit longer,' the last of which is not strictly true, but Arthur is woozy and needs encouragement, and Merlin is not one for having scruples about the odd well-meaning white lie.

Then they walk in, and Arthur is brilliant. He pushes his shoulders back and plasters a valiant princely expression on his face as he walks in and sits down, and he greets Uther and the delegation in whole sentences, though Merlin can see that it's paining him. Pity wells up all about Merlin's heart, and pride at how brave Arthur is. He wants to put his hand on Arthur's shoulder, squeeze it, but of course he can't, so he just stands as close behind Arthur's chair as he can manage and tries to just sort of _project_ towards Arthur as though he can lend him his own strength.

The session drags on, of course, as Merlin had known it would, and Arthur's face is pale and lined with sweat, and his lids are drooping. He keeps needing to cough, and bravely suppressing it into his fist; and Merlin sees him heroically stop at least three sneezes.

Uther is really a _terrible parent_ , Merlin thinks, because he hasn't even _noticed_ how sick Arthur is. He's all diplomacy and statesmanship, iron-fist-inside-the-glove; and the wrapping up and farewells and so on seem to take forever. Merlin keeps an anxious eye on Arthur.

Finally, it's over, and he hustles Arthur out, rather skilfully making it seem as though Arthur is the one doing the leading. They get back to Arthur's chambers, somehow, though Arthur is just a big, woozy, floppy mess by now and Merlin has to keep talking to him all the way back, because he looks as though he's about to go to sleep on his feet.

Merlin closes the door behind them. 'Here, just sit down on the bed,' he soothes. 'Come on. That's right.'

'Not a baby,' Arthur croaks, but his eyes are glassy.

'I know,' says Merlin seriously. 'You did so well out there, Arthur. So well. I was – I was proud of you.' He ducks his head and busies himself with helping Arthur off with his boots, but Arthur seems pleased, in a sick puppy sort of way. He touches Merlin's head; it's probably meant to be a ruffle, but his hand is too sluggish and it turns into a kind of pat, which Merlin finds rather sweet.

'Into bed with you,' he says. 'Back to sleep.'

But Arthur tilts his head back, tiredly, to look into Merlin's face. 'W'th you,' he says, and clumsily grips at Merlin's hand. 'Stay. Please?'

Merlin doesn't know what to say, because he _wants_ to, has always wanted to. He wants to curl up with Arthur as he sleeps, today and every day of his life. He wants to look after him when he's sick, hold his hand when he's well, stand by his shoulder when he's worried, laugh with him when he's happy. He wants that, and he can't say it, can never say it.

And if he does this again, goes to sleep with Arthur in his arms, only because Arthur's sick and needs comfort – if he does, it will _hurt_ when he wakes up and has to go away.

'Arthur,' he says in a low voice, turning his face away. 'Arthur, no. I can't – please don't make me.'

Arthur frowns. And then he reaches out to take Merlin's other hand, and looks up, and meets Merlin's eyes with his own. They're tired, and droopy, but focused, as though Arthur's concentrating on the most important thing of all, the thing that needs all of his attention despite his weariness, despite how sick he feels. Arthur ducks his head to clear his throat, and lifts it again.

'No,' Arthur says, and his voice is gravelly and painful, but he's articulating very carefully and clearly. 'I mean… _stay._ With me. Alw'ys. Please. Merlin,' and he squeezes his hands.

Merlin just looks at him for a moment, uncomprehending, and Arthur huffs in tired annoyance, eyelids drooping. He tugs at Merlin's hand again, glances up to make sure he has his attention, and then turns his face down and kisses – _kisses Merlin's wrist_ , softly, just on the little knob below his thumb. Merlin, frozen in shock, can only focus on the warm moistness of Arthur's exhale against his skin, on the chapped roughness of Arthur's lips.

And then Arthur tips his head impatiently towards the pillows, and motions for Merlin to take his boots off, just as though he hasn't just turned Merlin's little well-ordered world upside down. And Merlin gulps, and – sits down, dazedly, and looks at his hands.

'Arthur,' he says in a strained voice, 'I – you – what?'

Arthur's already dropping his head heavily on the pillows as though he has no more strength left to hold it up. 'Sleep – now. Pl'se. Talk later.' And when he forces his eyes open again and sees Merlin's face, he croaks, forcefully, ' _Promise,_ ' and then goes off into a fit of horrid coughing into his sleeve.

Then somehow Merlin's boots are wrestled off and tossed to the floor and he's coming at Arthur and putting his arms around him and holding him tightly. Arthur cuddles him, warm and drowsy and exhausted from coughing, and pets his hair with a slow hand; and Merlin presses his face into Arthur's shirt.

And Arthur's arms are around him and Arthur's breathing is in his hair, and Arthur's promise is still echoing softly in his mind as he drifts off to sleep.

* * *

 _Longest Author's Note Ever:_

Apparently I can't _not_ write romantic revelations for these two. This fic was never really supposed to get to this stage; but someone said I should continue and make them into a 'proper couple'. And I found myself thinking, _Well, it's Merlin and Arthur; why not?_

*sighs* Hence, this chapter. Yes, Arthur has the worst timing in the world, but I kind of feel like this is actually something he would do – declare his love with the worst sore throat ever and promptly go to sleep. Poor Merlin! :) I bet he had sweet dreams though.

So-o; now I'm thinking about writing the Talk that Arthur's promised – if only because I want Merlin to tease him about his atrocious timing. ;)

And there's still the modern-day reverse fic, which I will get to, I swear. Because imagine a newly returned Arthur trying to work out things like how to boil the kettle to get a hot-water bottle filled. ('Merlin! How does this work again? Do I twist it?') And how to phone the doctor (because he's only ever watched Merlin use the phone before). Too cute!

In other news; I now have a weird headcanon that the unicorn from 1x11 sort of mystically watches over Arthur and Merlin, slips into their subconscious like in Merlin's dream, and ships them as hard as the Slash Dragon. :D

Also, I think that George could totally hear Merlin hissing at Arthur, before he opened the door; and as for what he was _thinking_ , well – let's just say that innocent little Merlin probably had no idea about what kind of conclusion George actually came to.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this! Please leave a review and let me know what you thought. :)


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin._

* * *

Arthur's sore throat is mostly gone and his voice is back, and he still hasn't said anything.

Merlin's been trying extra hard not to look too wistful, or expectant, when he's alone with Arthur. Because Arthur had been sick, after all, and not really completely in his right mind, and maybe he regretted it, regretted what he had done that afternoon.

Merlin can still feel Arthur's lips on that little spot in his wrist. He doesn't think he could ever really forget that, but maybe if Arthur doesn't say anything, Merlin can squash it down and try not to think about what it was like, having Arthur's lips touch his skin so softly, so tenderly.

He's nearly sure, after a few days, that Arthur isn't ever going to mention it again. And there's something huge and hollow and aching in Merlin's chest, but he still tries not to look too wistful or anything, because maybe he can still be Arthur's friend, anyway.

And then, the next morning, he's standing by the table, setting out Arthur's mail and sword and things for training. And Arthur comes up next to him, quietly, and says, 'Merlin.'

Merlin jumps, because there's something in Arthur's voice that turns him hot and cold and sends a warm shiver down the back of his neck. He swallows, and looks up, and Arthur's right _there_ , looking at him.

'What is it?' Arthur murmurs. 'You've been all twitchy. And you won't look me in the eye.'

'I...' Merlin says helplessly. 'I – Arthur, you...' He swallows again, and makes himself talk in coherent speech, his heart thumping unpleasantly in his throat. 'It's just – I understand if you've changed your mind, but we need –' He breaks off and looks away, gripping his hands into tight nervous fists. 'I need to _know_.'

'Changed my mind?' Arthur says, and he sounds astounded. 'Why would I – Merlin, _surely_ you know that I wouldn't. Ever.'

Merlin feels suddenly boneless, as though a taut thread of tension has been keeping him tied together, and it's just been snapped. 'Well, you haven't _said_ anything!' he says, equal parts anger and desperate relief. 'You just – haven't – said anything! I was _scared_ , Arthur!'

Arthur shakes his head, his eyes soft and intent. 'You really are an idiot sometimes,' he says, and then his arms are wrapping around Merlin, pulling him close.

It feels deliciously safe, comforting, Arthur's chest solid and warm, his heartbeat steady and strong. Merlin shivers, grabs hold of him tightly and presses his face into Arthur's shoulder, hard. 'Idiot yourself,' he says, muffled. 'You could have let me know, you prat!'

'I'm sorry,' Arthur says seriously. 'I'm sorry you were scared. It was just –' He tugs Merlin's head around and presses his lips to his forehead, running his fingers through Merlin's hair.

'Just what?' Merlin leans into Arthur's touch, closing his eyes.

Arthur laughs ruefully. 'Well, I've had a cold! And I don't want to kiss you and make you sick as well.'

'That was it?' Merlin says incredulously. 'You didn't want me to catch your cold?'

'No, I did not! Because you'd be all miserable and coughing, and you'd drag yourself along every day anyway and half-kill yourself, and be all small and sad and pathetic, and I would be responsible.'

'Small and sad and pathetic? Arthur, do you know what _you_ were like when you were sick?' Merlin says, and arches pleadingly towards Arthur's lips. But Arthur turns his face away, covering Merlin's mouth with warm firm fingers, shaking his head in frustration.

'Merlin, _no._ I'm not going to kiss you, don't make this hard for me.'

'Mm,' Merlin hums into Arthur's hand, watching him, and trembles in anticipation as Arthur's eyes darken. He's almost sure that Arthur's going to crack –

And then Arthur lets go and takes Merlin's shoulders gently and steers him down so he's sitting in the nearest chair. He peels his hands away with tense dragging slowness, and goes to stand on the other side of the table, his jaw tight and stubborn. 'I mean it,' he says grouchily. 'My God, you just – you have to be difficult, don't you? Don't you understand? _I don't want you to get sick_. Because I care about you.'

Merlin looks up at him, into Arthur's eyes. 'I'm sorry,' he says repentantly, after a moment. And then he can't help grinning up at Arthur again, because it feels as though joy is humming all the way round inside him, just under his skin. 'How long, then – before I can kiss you? A day? Two days?'

Arthur smiles back lopsidedly, as though he's trying not to but can't quite help it. 'Honestly, Merlin.'

'Come on,' Merlin teases, leaning forward to prop his elbows on the table and rest his chin on his hands. 'You want to as much as I do.'

'Two days, and not a moment less,' Arthur says implacably.

* * *

It's one day and two hours, in the end. One day and two hours of glances and licking lips, of Merlin trailing teasing touches on Arthur's wrists and Arthur giving him long longing looks across the room, his eyes dark. One day and two hours – Merlin's been counting them down – before Arthur cracks and pushes Merlin up against the wall and kisses him, extremely thoroughly.

* * *

'Your sense – of timing…' Merlin breaks off and writhes in Arthur's hold, because Arthur is biting him softly all over his neck, his collarbones, dipping down below the neck of his shirt, which is half off his shoulders. His neckscarf has been ravaged and wrenched off and cast with disgust (by Arthur) to the corner of the room.

Arthur mumbles inquiringly into Merlin's neck, and Merlin closes his eyes, his breathing ragged. If it weren't for Arthur's arm about his waist, Arthur's hand cupping and holding his head, Merlin would be in a melted puddle on the floor.

'Your sense of timing – _Arthur!_ – is absolutely… terrible, you know that?' he says faintly, biting off a little gasp. Arthur laughs – actually laughs against his skin, the prat, and Merlin shudders all over, clinging on to Arthur's shoulders and shirt for his life.

'You don't seem – to be minding too much,' Arthur murmurs, nuzzling a little at Merlin's ear. His fingers card through Merlin's hair, calming, and Merlin takes a deep breath.

'First – first you go and ask me to stay while you have a sore throat and can't talk,' Merlin says breathlessly. 'Then you go to sleep – you prat! Then – _Oh._ ' He breaks off with a little shiver as Arthur nibbles his ear. 'Then you – scare me half to death. And then you won't kiss me!'

'Making up for that now,' Arthur hums, mouthing with soft cracked lips over Merlin's cheekbone, his broad warm hand running across Merlin's back.

'And now,' Merlin says desperately, as Arthur's lips travel slowly closer to his mouth, 'now we're going to be late! Again! To anoth – mf!'

Arthur swallows up the words, kisses him long and relentlessly hard, holding Merlin's head with his hand and angling it this way and that so that he can take Merlin's mouth just as he likes it. It's like kissing a hailstorm or something for a few moments, a breathtaking force of nature; and then Merlin whimpers and Arthur gentles and they fall into a steady soothing rhythm of lips on lips that feels as though it could go on forever.

* * *

They are, most definitely, going to be very, very late, but somehow neither of them particularly care.

* * *

 _Well. Um. I suppose that was less of a Talk and more of a snogging session at the end there, but I have no regrets. *rubs hands gleefully*_

 _I hope you enjoyed this – please leave a review and tell me what you thought! :)_


	4. Chapter 4

The room is dim, and the alarm is shrill; Arthur still hasn't quite got used to the sound. Merlin's usually the one who turns it off in the mornings, because he knows how all the strange little things work on the back – 'buttons', Arthur remembers Merlin calls them. It's easy to mix up, because Arthur still thinks of buttons as things on clothes, and the little round press-y-things all over the house aren't anything like that.

Anyway, it's usually Merlin who turns the alarm off, but for some reason he's not moving. Arthur can make out his dark shape, cocooned in a mound of blankets. The only part that Arthur can see that's actually _Merlin_ is a bit of tousled dark hair poking out of the top of the mound in the dimness.

'Merlin?' Arthur says, and puts a hand on Merlin's back. The cocoon shifts a tiny bit, and a little moaning noise comes out one end.

Arthur frowns, blinking sleep out of his eyes. The horrible sound of the alarm is going right through his head, and he stretches over the top of Merlin's body to fumble around for it on the table beside the bed. There's a bit of a rustle and thud as he knocks a book onto the floor, but he captures the alarm and feels around it at random, pressing things. It takes a few tries, but then the raucous noise stops and Arthur breathes a sigh of relief.

But the cocoon seems to be huddling even smaller into itself. It makes another very quiet little moan; and Arthur's actually starting to worry, now, because usually Merlin in the morning is warm and snuggly and affectionate. More often than not they wake up curled together in a complicated tangle of sleep-warmed limbs, Merlin's hair tickling Arthur's face, Merlin's soft dozy scent in his nostrils.

Arthur carefully peels away a corner of the blanket where Merlin's head should be. There's a weak movement as Merlin tries to grab for it and fails; and then Arthur can see him better, dark tangled head, a bit of a pale cheekbone and the pink tip of Merlin's nose.

'Merlin,' Arthur says again, softly, and slips his arm underneath the blankets and curls it around the slim still warmth of Merlin's body. 'What's the matter?'

There's a little, grizzly, snuffling noise instead of a proper answer.

'Come on,' Arthur coaxes, and lies back down, fitting his body along Merlin's and drawing him close. Merlin's limp and unresisting; but then he makes a little sneezing sound, and Arthur realises. 'You're sick, aren't you?'

'Mm.' It's just a mumble, but definitely affirmative.

Arthur snuggles him for a few moments, reaching up to run his fingers through Merlin's hair. Merlin likes that; it always makes him go soft and pliant and dreamy-eyed, as though Arthur's fingers combing through his hair releases all the tension wound up inside Merlin's body.

It works. Merlin stops being limp and goes a bit more – supple, instead, which is definitely a different thing. Arthur keeps carding his hair, soothing. 'Sore throat?' he asks, and Merlin moves his head tiredly against the pillow in the approximation of a nod.

All right. All right. Arthur holds Merlin close while he tries to work out what to do. It's a little intimidating, because Arthur's never looked after a sick person before – well, except for battle wounds, out on the field, and that's different. And he doesn't know much about how things work in this strange new world he's come back to. Are there still physicians? Where would he find one? How would he pay them?

First things first, though. He kisses Merlin's neck. 'Just stay right here, all right?' he orders, even though it doesn't look as though Merlin's planning on going anywhere anytime soon. 'I'm going to make some tea.'

* * *

Tea. Right. Kettle first: pull it off the little dish thing where it rests, take off the lid. Fill it up with water from the tap. The tap is like a pump, except instead of pumping up and down, you have to twist it to make the water gush out of the metal pipe. Arthur's pretty much used to this water piping system all around the house, because he uses the same type of thing to fill up the tub when he has a bath. It was one of the first things Merlin had explained about.

Merlin has put helpful little notes around with instructions and explanations for everything:

* * *

KETTLE (to boil water)

~ Fill up with water from tap

~ Put lid on

~ Sit on plate so it fits

~ Press red button

~ Button pops up when water has boiled

* * *

TOASTER

~ Fit slices of bread into slots

~ Press down red lever to make slices go in

~ DO NOT POKE

~ ESPECIALLY WITH METAL THINGS, Arthur

~ Toast pops up when ready :)

* * *

FRIDGE (cold but not freezing)

~ milk/eggs/meat/cut vegetables

~ NOT FOR ICE-CREAM

* * *

FREEZER

~ Ice-cream always goes in this one

* * *

(Merlin's never going to let him live that one down. Honestly, it was _one time_ , and Arthur had cleaned up all the melted icecream from inside of the fridge, anyway.)

And of course there are big scrawly smiley faces everywhere, and sometimes a flower or a butterfly drawn in the corner, because really, Merlin is a giant girl. (And no, that's _not_ a fond smile on Arthur's lips. It's a grimace.)

Anyway. Tea. Tea leaves - kept in the bright red tin in the corner. Arthur breathes in the fragrant scent of Earl Grey; it's their favourite. He warms the fat blue teapot, sprinkles in some tea and then burns his hand in the steam as he pours in gurgling, boiling water. He sucks the little red patch on his finger mournfully and hooks on the tea cosy (it's one of Merlin's things, obviously, because who else would think a _giant ridiculous knitted red strawberry_ was a dignified kind of teapot garment?), wishing that Merlin was there, perching on top of the counter and swinging his legs and smiling down at him with that look of unadulterated joy that makes something go warm and melted inside Arthur's chest.

Their bedroom's still dim when Arthur pushes the door open, Merlin's mug carried carefully in his hands. He sets it down carefully on the nightstand, then makes a precarious perch on the edge of the bed, feeling the warm lump of Merlin's body at his side.

'Tea,' he says softly, putting his hand on Merlin's back, smoothing it in long tender strokes. 'It'll make you feel a bit better, and then you can go back to sleep with something inside you. Come on,' he coaxes, and leans over and nuzzles Merlin's shoulder, and whispers, ' _darling,_ ' into the skin-warm sheets.

Merlin's shivering a bit, his eyes squeezed closed. A couple of dark curls are stuck damply to his forehead; Arthur brushes them gently out of the way, running his fingers through Merlin's hair again before he puts his arms all the way around Merlin's slim body and draws him upright to lean against Arthur's chest. 'Come on,' he murmurs again, reaching for the tea. 'Drink some, or I'll have to put it in the baby cup.' (They actually do have a baby cup, a funny thing with teat, for when they babysit their neighbours' two-year-old. Merlin, of course, thinks the two-year-old is the best thing to ever walk the earth.)

Merlin grasps the mug with clumsy hands, and takes a careful sip, swallowing painfully. Arthur keeps his hand steady over Merlin's, because he seems shaky enough that he might actually drop it if they're not careful. By the fourth sip Merlin's swallowing much more easily, and he manages a small weak smile when Arthur looks sideways at him. Arthur rubs his thumb gently over Merlin's bony shoulder, and Merlin turns his face in sideways to rest against Arthur's chest, closing his eyes. Arthur tucks his chin around Merlin's head, snuggling him gently, dropping tiny silly little kisses into Merlin's hair. 'Drink your tea,' he commands.

'What about a physician – I mean, a doctor?' Arthur says as Merlin finishes drinking, taking the mug from Merlin's hands.

Merlin shakes his head heavily, droopily curling into Arthur's chest. He raises a slightly wobbly finger in front of them, and Arthur catches the flicker of gold in his eyes as he traces glowing letters in the air:

 _Just need to rest_

'Don't do that. You'll wear yourself out,' Arthur scolds, but he kisses Merlin's temple before tucking him back under the covers.

Merlin looks up at him with great big shadow-rimmed eyes, struggling to keep them open, and reaches out to Arthur's hand, giving it a boneless little tug.

'Stay?' he whispers, and Arthur smiles softly down at him, a warmth spreading outwards from his chest, because this, at least, is something he understands, something that he knows.

'Yes, always,' he says quietly, and climbs in under the covers and curls around Merlin's body, holding him close and safe and loved as he drifts back to sleep.

* * *

 _Hm, I really quite liked writing the post-it notes. Perhaps I should expand on them - any ideas?_

 _Hope you all enjoyed this one! Please drop a review below. :)_


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